


Blankets

by Thleeny



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thleeny/pseuds/Thleeny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sewing, as it turns out, isn't as simple as it seems. Thank god Julian knows a proper tailor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blankets

**Author's Note:**

> My Christmas gift for cosmictuesdays over at tumblr! This also marks my attempt at autistic!Bashir, which is something this fandom desperately needs more of.

 It was rare enough Bashir ventured onto this section of the Promenade. Garak's Clothiers was tucked back in a little corner, something far out of the way of any of his usual paths-- but right now, Bashir needed his tailor friend, and it was a matter that couldn't take place at their usual lunch spot.

"Garak!" He threw open the doors and nearly knocked a Bajoran woman off her feet-- the only thing that saved him was his superhuman grace, grabbing the door back not a moment too soon. He gave her an apologetic grin and edged in past her, ignoring her dirty look.

"Sorry-- Garak!" His Cardassian friend blinked at him, a long, slow gesture that managed to convey his surprise and slight distaste at Bashir's entrance all at once.

"Doctor." Garak lifted a ridge. "What _ever_  could be the matter! I didn't know you capable of such boorishness!" There was a bit too much reproach for Bashir to ignore; he grimaced apologetically, but didn't spare it too much thought.

"Sorry-- I wanted to catch you before you started towards lunch. Do you mind if I ask you something before you get off work? As-- you know-- an official tailor?" A second raise of the ridge-- a record, frankly, given how difficult it was to surprise Garak.

"By all means. My knowledge is yours."

 "Right-- well, here, I, er, I brought it--" He hoisted his bag onto the counter. He hadn't folded it particularly carefully, and now he regretted that-- it meant the thing he pulled out looked even more of a lumpy mess than it actually was. Blue and green in color, it was . . .

Well. It had  _intended_ to be a blanket, but something clearly had gone wrong. The fabric was wrinkled in places, sewn haphazardly here and there; while it was technically in one piece, it was horribly mangled. Spare threads sprung out everywhere; there were cut bits that had been stitched up again, and one particularly lumpy corner that Bashir tried to tuck under the rest. One  _might_ sleep under the not-blanket, if one was absolutely desperate-- and even then, perhaps a sheet or a tablecloth would be better.

"I, ah. I'm not quite as good with a needle and thread as you are," he said, and was painfully aware of how much of an understatement that was. Nose wrinkled, Garak was slowly going through the blanket, quietly  _tsk_ ing at this stitch and that. His frown only grew deeper as he hefted something in the middle.

"Did you attempt to stuff it with  _sandbags_ , doctor?"

"No!"

"I must say, it rather feels as though--"

"No, no, it's-- well, the problem wasn't just making the blanket. I wanted a  _weighted_  blanket. Something a bit heavier without being hot and thick, if you follow." He steeled himself for a moment, waiting for a wry comment, but all Garak did was lift a ridge in fascination.

"I've never heard of such a thing."

"They're somewhat popular on Earth," Bashir continued, and now there was a proper smile on his face. "I've had them since I was a child-- I used to have terrible trouble sleeping, you see. My aunt was the one who'd thought of the solution." She'd always been far more patient than his parents-- they'd simply written him off as highly fussy and temperamental, shouting only because he didn't want to sleep. It was his aunt who'd thought there might be a real problem, and tried trick after trick until he calmed down.

"I have one in my room, but it's a bit worn out. I'd replicate a new one, but they never seem to get the weight right-- it's always too hot, or too thick, not so much a  _weighted_ blanket as an extremely heavy one." He glanced down at his own attempts. It was sad, really; the poor fabric deserved so much more than Bashir's mangled attempts. "My aunt's made them since I was a child, but I thought it was far past time for me to learn how to do it myself."

"Hmm . . ." A little smile had appeared on Garak's face. His grey fingers were splayed on the fabric, feeling it gently. "I'll tell you what, doctor: instead of commissioning me, why don't you stop by around closing time? I can show you how to do this. You rather had the right idea in places, I'll admit, even if some of your attempts were a bit . . . over-enthusiastic."

"I-- really? Garak, that'd be wonderful!" He couldn't deny the thought of watching Garak sew was alluring-- he always looked so wonderfully  _calm_  when he sewed, utterly at peace and yet working like a madman. He was a real dab hand with a needle; it was amazing, considering tailoring wasn't even his true calling."I'll be there-- thank you so much!"

The Cardassian waved a hand, dismissing his thanks. "Think nothing of it, my dear. You can  _thank_  me by not mangling such beautiful fabric again." 


End file.
